To Die for You
by TheyKilledKenny
Summary: Dude...you're my best friend. I don't want you to die until I do. Alternate to episode Cherokee Hair Tampons ...nonslash
1. Chapter 1

-1Description: "Dude...you're my best friend. I don't want you to die until I do." Alternate to episode "Cherokee Hair Tampons" ...nonslash

Disclaimer: Don't own, never will, never claimed to, 'nuff said.

Cartman sighed, stretching as he leaned back into the couch before the TV, feeling thoroughly satisfied. He smiled. Kyle was in Hell's Pass, dying and barely conscious, with his family holed up in his room, waiting for doctors to find some way to keep him alive for a longer period of time. Of course, Kyle _might've _been in the hospital recovering, laughing with Stan and his parents--but no, Cartman was too smart for them. He closed his eyes, relishing the image of Stan's stricken face as he watched Cartman grind the fake kidney into mush under his heel and hold out his hand for the ten million dollars that Stan didn't possess. Stan was such a douche, what exactly made him like that Jew filth so much? Was he just a complete idiot? Anyway, at least he could bask in Stan's misery for a while and--

_Ding Dong_

Irritated, Cartman jerked out of his thoughts and sat up.

_"Meeeem! _Someone's at the door!"

No answer.

_Ding Dong  
_  
Cursing his mother, Cartman shoved himself off the couch and opened the door, letting a gust of freezing air and heavy sleet into the house. He looked down and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Stan was standing on his doorstep, teeth chattering slightly with cold, his head bowed.

"What the hell do you want asshole?"

"Cartman, please... I-I know you hate Kyle, and I know you're all pissed off because I tried to trick you into signing the release, but please, please, _please_ just think what you would be doing if you donated Kyle your kidney. He'll die if he doesn't get it, he's my best friend Cartman...he can't die. Please...if you just gave it to him...I'll do anything...anything..."

His voice cracked. With what seemed like an enormous effort, Stan lifted his half-closed eyes to Cartman's. He looked absolutely terrible. He was very pale, his hair bedraggled, his coat and hat soaked through and encrusted with ice. He was teetering slightly with exhaustion where he stood, hands trembling as he tried to brush thick strands of sodden black hair out of his eyes, which were red and puffy, with dark circles underneath. He had been crying. A lot. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days.

Cartman leaned leisurely against the door frame, surveying Stan with amusement.

"Well, how _very_ touching," he yawned, polishing his nails on his coat and cocking an eyebrow at Stan. "Ah do believe that you worry more about that Jew-rat than yourself. Some people are such stupid assholes, huh Stan? Now I would just like you to seriousleh tell me, just why the _hell_ would I donate my precious kidney to Kahl?"

"Because he's your friend, and you're supposed to help your friend out, Cartman!" Stan tried to step foreward and wobbled dangerously, his knees nearly buckling. Cartman didn't move. Stan reached out pleadingly. "I would donate mine in a minute if I was a match, I'm not trying to scam you out of anything, honest!"

"Yeah, you would wouldn't you? Shows just how lame you are Stan. _Donate _your kidney? Why the fuck would someone do that? God, you are such a fag."

"I don't give a damn what you think Cartman!" Stan cried, raising his voice. "I_ care_ about him, I--if he dies I won't be able to live, I'd die for him, Cartman, I would _rather_ die before I see him die...he's my best friend. My _friend _Cartman! Do you even know what that's like?"

"Pff! Yeah _sure_ Stan." said Cartman angrily. "Well what, you--you think I should just _give _it to him? Just--" Cartman put on a high-pitched, soothing voice, " 'Oh_ looook_ Kahl. What's _thiiiis _nyah? Why, it's mah _kidney_! And you can have it, you stupid Jew. Ah hope you have a _great_ time with it, and it won't cost you a single dollar.' " He jabbed his finger at Stan, drawing himself up in the manner that he found most impressive to the subjects of his speeches " Like that? Stan, do you even know how our society is built? How this world works? Have you ever thought, "What would happen to the human race if people could take what they wanted?" How would we have our systems that we take for granted? What would the world be like, Stan, if everyone in the world just _gave_ away everything that belongs to them? Huh?"

"It's called donating Cartman!" said Stan weakly. "You just give something because someone _needs_ it badly, like Kyle. You don't ask for a price! It hasn't got anything to do with society."

Cartman laughed derisively.

" 'Don't ask for a price'? Are you seriously Stan? You think I'd give up my kidney for _free? _And how about Kahl? Do you _really _think his life is worth that much to just give him a kidney? Well Stan, you can just either hand over that ten million, or suck mah fat hairy balls! Screw you, go home!" He began to close the door.

"Cartman...no...please..." Stan croaked. He staggered forward, nearly collapsing. "Cartman, its Kyle, he's your friend, even if you hate him. Your _friend_...you spent your whole life together_...Kyle..."  
_  
Cartman paused, just long enough for a pale glimmer of hope to rise in Stan's eyes, then flipped him the finger.

"_Fuck _Kyle, Stan. And if I were you, I would go get some sleep."

And he slammed the door in Stan's anguished face.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dazed, Stan slowly tottered down the road, until he stood, dreamlike, in the middle of Main Street, staring sightlessly at the streetlights flashing bright blue and gold through the falling sleet, amplified by his exhausted mind. His head swam, he felt dizzy, every bone in his body screaming for him to sleep. Sleep and forget about everything, but he knew he couldn't. No matter what, his mind buzzed in ever-escalating panic, the never-ending worry about Kyle repeating itself incessantly, threatening to rise up and overtake him every time he stopped thinking. This must be how people nearing delirium felt.

His best friend. His best friend was going to die and he couldn't do anything about it. Nothing worked. Cartman wouldn't give him a kidney. His heart gave a horrible jolt of terror at the thought of Kyle lying lifeless, dead and gone forever, not like Kenny...

_"Stan! What the hell are you doing out here?"_

Stan blinked. "Kenny?"

Kenny was standing in the road, completely healed from his piano accident and looking shocked.   
_  
"Stan...you're a complete mess...how long has it been since you slept?"_

"Huh? Oh, I dunno, I can't remember too well...Cartman wouldn't listen to me again, Kyle's in the hospital..." He trailed off, staring at his feet, distracted by the glimmering reflections in the ice.

"_Stan?"_

"Yeah?"

Kenny shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "_I'm...uh...sorry I got so pissed off about dying, it didn't really occur to me what it meant, you know, that he'd actually die. I didn't think--"_

Stan shook his head. "That's alright Kenny." Tears welled up in his eyes and he swallowed hard, blinking.

"He going to die..."

Kenny patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "_C'mon, it'll be fine_ _Stan, Cartman's not that evil, I know him, he'll come out of it..."_

There was a sudden honking, and the Marsh's car came skidding around the corner. It screeched to a halt in front of Stan and Kenny, and Randy stuck his head out, looking frantic.

"Stan! Kenny! Get in quick! we're going to the hospital."

Stan clutched Kenny's arm convulsively, feeling suddenly faint. "W-What?" he yelped, his voice shaking "Kyle...? is Kyle okay?"

Randy shook his head anxiously "No Stan, the Broflovski's said he was taken out of his room for medical attention, and the doctors say they need to have a donor soon, they don't think he'll make it much longer."

So, its probably cruddy, but please, PLEASE review and tell me if you liked it. It's probably going to be medically impossible, but I'm doing it on purpose, because South Park is medically impossible, and so was that episode, so don't complain about that. And did I mention to review? 


	2. Chapter 2

-1To make things quite clear, I do NOT own South Park, nor bizarre references to The Three Stooges and James Bond.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Stan had gotten over his fear of hospitals a while ago, but standing in the over-crowded, noisy, and busy lobby of the hospital would've unnerved anyone. Doctors rushed back and forth, yelling instructions and calling for help. No one at Hell's Pass cared much for the comfort of visitors, so the most gruesome and graphic things took place right in front of everyone, with the hallways leading to various operating and X-ray rooms stretching out in full view on either side. Stan surveyed his surroundings hopelessly. It was horribly over-sanitized, with sparkling clean, gleaming white floor tiling reflecting the hundreds of brilliant lights that dazzled his sore eyes, and the over-polished, shiny black panels in the walls duplicating the chaos inside.

The Broflovskis were standing by the doors, looking close to hysterical. The McCormicks were there also, looking around with great familiarity and dislike, mumbling mournfully to each other.

"Oh boys," gasped Sheila when she saw them. "I hope Kyle will be alright, oh my poor little bube.."

She began to cry into Gerald's shoulder. Gerald swallowed and looked at the Marshes helplessly. A pair of side doors swung open and Dr Doctor hurried in, looking harassed.

"Emergency room doors are piled up with ice!" he yelled "Bring some through the side there!"

_"Calling Doctor Howard, Doctor Fine, Doctor Howard" _the intercom droned calmly. "_Please report to emergency room for assistance."_

Stan raised is eyebrows incredulously. Kenny snorted in disgust. "_Those guys once blew all the brains out my ear and down the throat of an appendicitis patient...douchebags."  
_  
Stan couldn't help giving Kenny a faint grin.

The front doors swung open in a flurry of ice-cold air and Cartman scrambled in, looking extraordinarily pissed off and cold. He pulled off his hat and shook it, spraying a passing wheelchair-bound patient with ice and water, and stared irritably around the lobby.

Stan breathed in sharply, stepping forward in disbelief.

"Cartman...?"

Cartman's eyes narrowed. He hurried across to Stan, and crossed him arms, scowling.

"Okay, butthole" he snapped "Just what the hell is going on? My mom made me come up here saying Kahl was dying, and said that I'm supposed to "talk" to you, or some pussy-licking retarded bullcrap like that. Now what do you want?"

"Oh" said Stan dully, his face falling "I thought--"

"--That ah was worried? Eat your heart out Stan. Now, the news on Kahl?"

"Okay listen Cartman" said Stan fiercely "He needs a donor, there's no other way...you're the only one, and I'm not going to believe that you're as evil as I always think you are. He'll _die _Cartman! Do you even care? Don't you understand what that means? He'll be gone, Kyle will be _gone, _don't you even have the heart to give him one kidney?"

Cartman looked at Stan incredulously.

"Stan, apparently you're losing your memory. We just _talked _about this half an hour ago, and Ah _said _ten million." he pressed his hand to his chest sincerely "I'm afraid I made myself quite clear before this. Now you've got a choice, Stan. Ten million dollars, or you can watch your filthy jew friend die, it's up to you."

"_You greedy fatass retard Cartman!" _Kenny stormed suddenly _"If every person in South Park gave us all the money they owned we couldn't get that much!"_

"Well that really sucks for Kyle then," Cartman replied coolly "Ah guess South Park's gonna be rid of at least one Jew pretty soon. My sincerest apologehs Stan, I am deeply sorry for the great loss you will be hopefully experiencing." He gave Stan a very broad smile.

Stan gaped at him. "You fat asshole Cartman! Do have any idea what's_ happening?"  
_  
"Cartman folded his arms and shook his head emphatically "Nuh uh, you're not going to get me with your dumbass explanations. Ten million dollars Stan. And besides. I certainly wouldn't _mind_ seeing Kahl die, not as good as ten million dollars of course, but--"

An assistant came through the doors, "Mr and Mrs Broflovski?" he called "we need you to come over in here for a few question with regard to your son."

"Kyle? Oh my poor bubleh!" Sheila rushed after the doctor. Stan and Kenny exchanged anxious glances and bolted after her.

"Ay! Wait up you assholes!" Cartman yelled, scrambling behind them.

Kyle was lying in a bed in a busy room off the side hallway, crammed with several other patients hidden behind white curtains, a great many doctors, and random people who were running in and out and talking much too loudly for a hospital, as well as a large desk with two gloomy-looking secretaries sitting at it. As Kyle's parents started to ask about Kyle hysterically, Stan hurried to Kyle's bed and pulled himself up on the side.

"Kyle...?" he said softly, completely distracted from Cartman, stunned at the sight of Kyle lying feebly in the hospital bed. "Holy crap dude, are--are you okay?"

Kyle was very pale, his eyes very bright, a horribly twisted version of his former self. He looked too weak to sit up.

"Better than you, from the looks of it." Kyle whispered dryly, eying the very disheveled Stan "You're a mess. Whose truck ran over you?" 

Kenny chuckled, but hurriedly stopped when Kyle looked over at him. Kyle, however, didn't seem at all hurt. 

"Jesus, Kenny," He sounded rather shaky "I'm sorry now...I really, really should've been nicer to you all this time."

Kenny cringed at the words, but before he could answer, Cartman had pulled himself onto the foot of the bed. Kyle immediately drew back in disgust, but Cartman ignored him. He stared at him in shock for a long moment, then his face slowly lit up in pure delight, and, with a triumphant whoop, he leaped onto the bed.

"Ha ha haaa! In your face Kahl!" he yelled, fairly dancing in joy "Nya nya nya nya nya nya, you're a-gonna die-ie cause I didn't give you my kid-ney and I'm gonna have a _great_ time cause the dirty jew is _de-ead_! Oh my god guys, this is the most fucking awesome thing that has ever happened! "

Stan stood beside Kyle numbly, looking traumatized at the horrific display before him. Kyle just sat in shocked silence.

"Hey, how does it feel to be dying jew? Does it hurt much? Hey, aren't you gonna call me fatass, or asshole, or anything? Too depressed about dying huh?" Cartman gasped with laughter, clutching his sides. "I can't _believe _this! Seriousleh you guys, we oughta throw a party! Let's see now, after we tell the news reporters to publicly announce the awesome news, we can invite people from all over town..." Cartman leaned over Kyle, hoisting an expression of wide-eyed mock worry onto his face. "Kaaahl? How long do you think it'll be 'til you die now?"

"Up yours, Cartman." muttered Kyle wearily. Cartman ignored him

"Ah'm sincerely sorry, but I believe that _you _are going to die a slow death and go to jew-hell preeeetty soon. Of course, I'm _sure_ that if your life was worth more I'd take a bit more trouble, but unfortunately _you _are just a goddamn dumb jew and I hate you, so I'm afraid I'll be unavailable. Ok_aaaay_? Unless of course, Stan gets mah ten million--OW!"

Kenny had punched him, knocking him off the end of the bed. Rubbing his jaw, Cartman dropped his gloating look and glowered at Stan, who stared back at him with pure horror.

"_Well?" _

"You unbelievable son of a bitch..." Stan whispered. He was trembling with fury

"Well? How long 'til I get my" --he exaggerated the words heavily-- _"Ten Million Dollars?_ I'm afraid there will be no transplant before you pay up. You can beg all you want Stan, no money, no kidney, and that's final."

Stan's fists were clenched. "Cartman, I told you this before and I'll tell you again: you are _so_ going to hell when you die!"

"Oh that's fine Stan! Making money off a filthy fucking dying jew and getting entertainment to boot sends me to _hell_ now does it? And who really cares about hell if I know I got_ Kahl_ here killed first?"

"You--!"

Stan lunged at Cartman and struck out at him with all the strength in his exhausted body, but Kenny seized him by the back of his coat. "_Stan! Not now..." _he jabbed his head at Kyle, who looked mortified.

"Sorry" mumbled Stan, looking away from Cartman, who was laughing hysterically at Stan's weak attempt at standing up for Kyle. He wobbled and seized the side of the stretcher for support.

"Stan!" yelped Kyle "Are you okay?"

Cartman grinned even more broadly than before.

"Nope, he sure isn't Kahl. Of course, I'm sure if _you_ were the one whose faggy friend was dying,_ you'd_ be getting your money's worth by negotiating with _me_, instead of running around town all night for a week, cooking up douchey schemes. You're a greedy Jew aren't you?" He checked his watch and began pulling on his hat and gloves. "Well it's getting awfully late guys, screw this, I'm going home. Ten million dollars Stan, and do wash your hair before desecrating a perfectly good hospital. Oh, and Kenny ought to electrocute himself for Kyle's amusement, I doubt there's much entertainment in hell." He winked broadly at Kyle, who sat staring at him, frozen with shock, and then, whistling loudly, he vanished out the doors.

"Oh god..." whispered Stan. His eyes brimmed with tears.

"Stan, are you okay?"

"Kyle, c'mon...I'm not the one lying in the hospital...dying" Stan shuddered at the last word and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Think... _he thought _C'mon, just think._.._there must be something you can do...Hurry up and think of something... _His head hurt. It felt as though a bowling ball was lodged in his skull. Glancing down at his feet he saw coarse black cobwebs spread over his shoes and the floor, and vaguely remembered something about hallucinations induced by sleep-deprivation. Ignoring them, he tried to think about some way, any way to get Cartman's kidney, but nothing came to him. There was nothing Cartman like more than money, except for Kyle's suffering._  
_  
He couldn't think of any solution, there was nothing he could do. He had hit dead ends wherever he went.

"Stan?" said Kyle suddenly.

"W-What?" Stan rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up to Kyle's side again.

"D'you think Jews really do go to hell?"

"What! Don't tell me you're going to listen to that fat asshole!"

"Well no, but I was just wondering...if I die, I'm not going to be looking forward to waiting for a long-ass time with god-knows who, before that fat asshole to come down to rattle about how many more decades than me _he _managed to live."

You're not going to die Kyle!" said Stan fiercely. "I promise...I won't let Cartman win."

Kyle paused for a second, then nodded weakly, eyes closed, and lay back.

"_Jews don't go to hell for being Jews, Stan, I guarantee it._" said Kenny, but he gave Stan a strangely pitying look as he spoke.

Stan looked up from Kyle's white face.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" he asked bitterly, not much caring for an answer.

Kenny shook his head. "_Doesn't matter. Stan c'mon, just sleep for a bit before Kyle's parents come back--"_

Without warning Kyle suddenly gasped and shuddered violently. He began to struggle for air.

"Kyle?" Stan jerked up in fright and shook Kyle by the shoulder.

"_Doctor!" _cried Kenny.

Dr. Doctor ran up, looked at Kyle, checked him and yelled for assistance. "Get this one out of here stat! It's an emergency!"

Doctors rushed up and rolled Kyle out into the hallway, shouting instructions to each other. Past the horrified looks of Kyle's parents, past the Marshes and the McCormicks. Terror rose in Stan's throat and he forced it down. He felt dizzy, the blazing lights warped and lurched alarmingly, as though under water. The doctors voices sounded very far away. Shaking his head to clear it, Stan gripped the side of the stretcher and closed his eyes, trying to make himself believe that the doctors would somehow do their job.

"It'll be fine Kyle." he said urgently "You're going to make it dude, I mean it okay?"

"Thanks" mumbled Kyle. "And thanks a lot for going through all that trouble to try and get Cartman's kidney for me." 

Stan swallowed, a lump rising in his throat. "Dude...you're my best friend. I don't want you to die until I do."

They rolled into the operating room, nearly knocking the doors off their hinges. Stan and Kenny tumbled off the cart as the doctors busied them selves with their instruments. Stan took a deep breath, willing himself not to pass out, and concentrated on the stark red letters painted on the opposite doors reading "_Emergency--keep clear!_".

"Hey No! Get over here and get the anesthesia! Check again and see if by some chance we have _any_ matching blood..."

Kyle gasped for air and was obscured from view by several nurses.

"Kyle..." mumbled Stan, stepping forward. "Kyle don't...come on, please make it..."

Without warning, he heard a roaring in his ears, drowning out the chaos the doctors were making, and his knees gave way beneath him. Stan shook his head again and tried to push himself up, struggling to get to Kyle, but the room spun around him, the floor and wall blurring together, objects warping out of their original shape. Stars winked before his eyes, luridly colored snowflakes and cobwebs spun before him hypnotically. He thought he heard Kenny's frantic voice saying something about Kyle before he sank into blackness.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So...crappy chapter I know, but I promise the next one will be alot better, I promise! And please please review and tell me what kind of god-awful mistakes I'm making. 


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, I'm _really _sorry about the slow update, but we had midterm exams shudder and I had absolutely no time. Well anyway, here it is.

* * *

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"_Stan! STAN! Wake up!"_

Stan groggily opened his eyes. Kenny was leaning over him, looking panicky. He stared blankly for a second, then the commotion of the doctors forced its way into his brain.

_Kyle. _He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the protests of his muscles, and looked around wildly.

"What happened? Is Kyle--?"

"Hurry up and try stabilizing him!" shouted the doctor "Give him more oxygen!"

"_They don't know what to do." _Kenny informed Stan, who was still trying to clear the fog from his mind. "_They say he's not responding to anything."_

_  
_"No." murmured Stan, staring fixedly at Kyle "They have to find something...he can't just die..." He hit himself in the side of his head, hoping to jolt his brain into action, but nothing occurred to him.

A nurse glanced at the boys, looking worried. "Kids, maybe you'll feel better if you stepped out..." she started, but trailed off at Stan expression.

The doctors were fussing over Kyle, babbling instructions and suggestions, but none of them seemed to know what they were doing. They were out of ideas for anything that would help Kyle. Stan groaned they shoved IV's into Kyle's arms, hoping that something would help him. Dr. Doctor tugged his hair in frustration.

"Damn that little fat kid!" he turned to Stan and Kenny "Is there any way you can somehow get him to change his mind?"

Kenny shook his head numbly.

Without warning, Stan gave a sudden strangled shriek and began to whisper disjointed prayers, assurances of Kyle's safety and promises of unending loyalty under his breath, repeating them over and over at top speed; Kenny jumped and looked sideways at Stan in alarm, feeling his stomach clench. Stan looked worse than Kenny could've thought possible for a person to look, he twitched, Tweek-like, his right leg kept buckling every time he stood on it, his fist was shoved into his mouth, teeth clamped down on it, blood running down his fist. There was a sickly bright glow about him that was unhealthier looking than a dead man's pallor, shining feverishly from his eyes, glazed over and brighter than Kyle's.

Unable to think of anything that could make Stan stop, Kenny gripped Stan by the shoulder and babbled the first thing he thought of: "_Stan...he'll be fine."  
_  
Stan looked up to answer Kenny but froze suddenly, his eyes on Kyle.

"_Stan...?"  
_  
But Stan continued to stare, transfixed. How was it that no one had seen it? The heavy cover over Kyle, the tubes all around him, the table, even Kyle's clothes had turned into a suffocating tangle of fuzzy, dark gray and brown worms. Thick and twisted together, like a close-up of a tweed suit, winding around Kyle and the medics, strangling them. The cobwebs he had seen earlier stretched out from them, clinging to his feet, to the machines. Their shadows leapt on the walls, behind the blinding glare of the lamps, and there, dancing within them, was Cartman's silhouette. Stan gasped in shock and rushed forward, but Kenny seized his arm and yanked him back.

"_Stan! What in the--"  
_  
Stan suddenly jerked and struggled fiercely, scrambling for Kyle as though his life depended on it, nearly shaking Kenny off his feet, Flabbergasted, Kenny tackled Stan and grabbed him by the shoulders. Stan yelped in fright and wriggled wildly in Kenny grip with surprising strength.

"Kenny! The worms...they'll get him, look, can't you see--Cartman sent the worms, Cartman's worms...they _are_ Cartman...look, Cartman..."

Stan was hyperventilating, his pupils dilated, his eyes fixed on Kyle, his face twisted in horror.

"_Stan...what--what's wrong? What are you saying!? There aren't any worms!" _Kenny pinned Stan to the floor, but he continued to twitch and wriggle spasmodically beneath him, cowering under imaginary blows and straining to reach Kyle.

"Kenny get off, they're killing him...Kyle..." Stan was rambling deliriously, mad fervor and panic in his voice.

Kenny twisted Stan around to meet his eyes. "_Stan! There's nothing there! Stop it okay? Stop it!"  
_  
Stan blinked at Kenny and stopped struggling. He looked around, bewildered. Kenny sat back, trembling and willing his heart to stop palpitating. Stan's attack seemed to have gone as soon as it had come.

"What...what the hell happened...?"

He pulled himself to his feet and looked at Kyle. The fuzzy worms had disappeared from around Kyle; the doctors were still working, oblivious to what had happened.

"K-Kenny?" said Stan fearfully "Am I nuts?"

Kenny said nothing, he felt suddenly as though he had almost remembered some word he had trying to recall, but had just missed it.

_Cartman's worms_...there was something oddly disquieting about that.

"_Hallucinations." _he mumbled to Stan, shaking his head.

"But I know there was something...Kyle..." Stan brushed his hand over his eyes. The cobwebs were still there. "Something's happening to Kyle...I know it"

"Doctor!" screamed a nurse "He's going into shock!"

Kenny's jaw dropped and he gave Stan a dumfounded look, a horrible sinking feeling making itself known in his stomach. Stan stood rooted to the spot, his face transformed with a horror that would've made a shell-shocked soldier look mildly surprised, a terrible impending epiphany welling up in his eyes.

"No..." he whimpered weakly. "It couldn't be...that only happened once, with Frosty..." He mechanically passed his hand across his eyes again.

Disregarding Stan, Dr. Doctor whipped around and began ministering to Kyle, calling "Shock him! Get him back; he's too weak to survive it!"

Kyle gave a strangled gasp. Stan shook his head, as though coming out of a dream, and clenched his fists in anxiety.

"Come on Kyle...Cartman's not doing anything to you...come on..."

A medic shook his head. "Nothing's having any effect Doctor--"

"Damnit!"

Kyle couldn't die. It was impossible...

"No pulse Doctor." The assistant's tone was flat.

"Try it again, quickly! Give him more air, do something, just do something..."

Nothing registered on the monitor. The doctors flailed around in panic, checking this, injecting that. Nothing worked.

"Still no response, doctor"

Dr. Doctor threw up his hands helplessly. "There's nothing I can do."

"No!" cried Stan. Pushing through the knot of stupefied medics, he pulled himself up onto the edge of the operating table and gazed at Kyle as though he could pull Kyle back with sheer willpower. Kenny gave a dry sob behind him.

"Kyle...please don't die...please, please come back..." his voice broke, but he didn't care. He leaned over Kyle and gripped him by the shoulders. "Please Kyle, c'mon, snap out of it...please..."

But Kyle just lay there, limp and motionless and unconscious.

A nurse hurled a bottle of plasma to the floor, where it shattered. As though the impact was all that was needed, one of the lamps on the ceiling abruptly gave way and fell in a burst of sparks, right on top of Kenny. He gave one muffled shriek before he was crushed, eyes comically squinted, blood pooling on the over-scrubbed floor beneath his head.

Stan jerked up and stared at Kenny's body in shock. The instinct that pertained to him, and only him, was stronger than any other instinct he had. A reaction too primal and basic for logical consideration.

"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"

A long, blank silence followed. Stan's gaze fell to Kyle, waiting. The pause stretched on and on unbearably. If an urge deeper than anything else a human being could possess was stilled...it couldn't be, it _couldn't _be...

"There's nothing you can do little boy." whispered the anesthetist. "He isn't reacting to anything--"

Stan didn't respond. His whole being was focused on Kyle, Kyle couldn't just ignore it...he said the phrase again.

"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"

Still no response. Kyle lay unmoving.

Stan slowly looked up at Kenny's familiar, bloodied corpse and sagged in despair. He felt so tired...he felt over a century old. Weariness dragged him downward; shadowy black fingers of darkness lurked at the edges of his brain, threatening to seize him. He couldn't think, he couldn't move. How could he still be alive with his system this exhausted...?

He gazed at Kyle helplessly. His mind was struggling to process something, something about Kyle, something important, but he didn't have the energy to think. Reason and rationality was beyond him by now. He was too tired to even collapse.

_Don't let Cartman win...remember how crazy it was? He didn't get to be part of this...only you and me and Kenny..._

In a daze, Stan picked up Kyle's hand and crushed it between his red mittens. He closed his eyes, praying, and spoke the immortal words that defined his deepest identity, that held him and Kyle together, and with them the very foundations of South Park, one more time.

"Oh my God. They killed Kenny."

Without warning, Kyle suddenly shuddered and gulped for air. His eyes fluttered open and looked up at Stan. The doctors gave cries of astonishment and gaped at each other. They scrambled for the machines, checking the readings, bewildered, trying to figure out what had happened. But Stan didn't rejoice, he still stood unmoving on the table. Every fiber of his soul seemed to be focused on Kyle...waiting...waiting...

"Kid, it's okay, he's back...that was _genius_, it's a _miracle_..."

But Stan just stood by Kyle's side, stock-still, dead on his feet; his wide eyes glazed over and blank as he stared down into those of his best friend, his face frozen in sudden, dawning realization.

Kyle gulped for air. His eyes slowly moved to Kenny, then up to Stan. He took a deep breath and conjured the familiar look of mild outrage onto his face.

"You Bastards..."

His eyes fell closed again. The machines went dead, the monitor flatlined, the doctors froze in mid-sentence. The anesthetist at Kyle's head blinked and checked again.

"He's...gone."

Stan didn't react in shock or tears, only slow grief filled his face. He had known it already, before the machines had gone out. He brushed a hand across his eyes, over the strands of hair hanging into them, and sank, limp, into a heap at the edge of the table, clinging to Kyle's hand to keep himself up.

"Kyle..." he whispered. Biting his lip, he shut his eyes and covered them with his free hand. Finally, he began to cry, sobs wracking his body, trembling in pain.

The doctors stood around him silently, looking on in quiet respect, unable to believe what had happened.

Dr. Doctor turned away, unable to watch anymore. "I'm going to kill that little fat kid." He mumbled, as he shuffled out the doors to see the Broflovskis.

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oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So...don't worry, I'll update the next one faster than this.


	4. Chapter 4

YES! I actually updated! WOO HOO! Really really sorry for the delay, but I had a really bothersome trip, and some important issues, so I couldn't find the time, let alone the energy, to write this chapter, so it'll be a bit crappy, but the next will be better!

* * *

Stan's sobs slowly diminished, replaced by a dull, pounding agony. . He felt as though he had sunk into a nightmare that had pushed it's way into real life. Dazed, he rubbed his eyes and stood, staggering under the weight of his own body.

Kyle lay still and quiet, his eyes closed, his face calm and serene. The drawn look of pain that had been constantly present since he first became ill had gone, replaced by something peaceful yet horrible. He looked so _small_ lying on the gleaming table, under the migraine-inducing lamps, entangled with IV's. He looked almost relieved to be dead, as though Kenny's death was all he needed to be able to go in peace.

_Cartman's fault...all Cartman's fault.  
_  
But it didn't matter anymore. Stan knew that nothing Cartman did would ever matter again.

His heart was broken, he thought rather dimly. Literally, not figuratively. There was a piercing, physical pain in his chest, as though a knife had been plunged into it, slicing through the warmth that used to be his friend.

Stan quietly dropped Kyle's hand and turned toward the doorway, he didn't know what he was doing, nor did he care. Kenny's corpse lay on the floor in a pool of blood, dimly illuminated by the red emergency lights, but his wide eyes stared mutely at Stan with an uncharacteristic expression, an almost knowing sort of grief, which now made Stan wonder if Kenny had felt Kyle die, whether he was wailing in despair over the fact that he couldn't take the fall for his friend that one time. He closed his eyes and took one unsteady step after the other, until he emerged from the glittering hallways of the hospital.

It was painfully bright in the lobby, the nurses and technicians were still running around, yelling about various other patients. Dr. Doctor was standing by the front doors, gazing gloomily into space, the Broflovski's crying in each other's arms beside him. Stan and Kenny's parents looked up at him with feeble, hopeless expressions that held no comfort.

"Stan..." Sharon croaked weakly, but Randy laid a hand on her arm and she fell silent. The Broflovskis were still crying, unheeding of anything else. Ike was glancing around with worried confusion.

"Ma_ma_..." said Ike, tugging on Sheila's skirt anxiously, "Kyle come out now?"

Sheila wailed and collapsed against the doorway. Gerald scooped Ike up, opened his mouth to give some kind of explanation, but couldn't seem to have anything to say. Stan averted his eyes, trying to give the Broflovski's some level of respect for their grief. He nodded a miserable "thank you" to Dr. Doctor, and pushing the door open, he walked out into the freezing night.

He was blind, he couldn't think, he couldn't hear, he couldn't comprehend the images and sounds around him. He simply walked forward, dazed and cold and tired, until he suddenly stopped, blinking. He had just turned onto the Main Street of South Park, where everything happened. It was silent and empty, the streetlamps and shop windows twinkling bright gold.

The sleet had turned to snow in the hours--or lifetimes--that had passed since he and Kenny had stood on this very spot, assuring each other that the foundations of their reality weren't about to collapse. And now...snow, the beautiful, pure snow that never left South Park unless it was funny, fell softly in huge, fluffy flakes, dimming the distant rooftops. They were lit in great hazy orbs around each lamppost, in transparent, sharp-edged wedges before each window, every snowflake visible in the shimmering, glowing swathes of golden light.

On a night like this, the four of them would be out along with fifty other rubbernecks and someone like Saddam Hussein or Death, trying to stop some bizarre reality fluke of quantum proportions. Or maybe just throwing snowballs and arguing heatedly about something adult and ridiculous.

God, the night was beautiful, as Kyle might've said when Cartman wasn't in earshot.

Stan shut his eyes, and thought about Kyle. How he was always so funny, so comically exaggerated, so exceedingly animated. How he would growl when Cartman angered him, and how short his temper was. How he fought with every atom of his being to do the right thing. How nothing on earth could make him stop fighting to overthrow the horrors Cartman inflicted on the world. How he would hang on grimly to the end, unfailingly trusting in the basic goodness of the world. How he helped save the town time and time again. And--how distant it seemed now-- how he had stood up to his mother, willing to die for his beliefs, on a bloody, burning battlefield one historic night a long time ago.

Stan stumbled off the walk and into the road. Everything felt wrong, out-of-place, disoriented. He found himself standing dizzily in the middle of Main Street, his hand shading his eyes as he stared down the road, taking in the sight of his eccentric, crazy town, where wild, impossible happenings floated out of the snowfall to be set off by the townspeople like firecrackers and kill Kenny. How long had the four of them been doing this? Certainly longer than the eight years they had lived. And he and Kyle were always in the middle, always Stan and Kyle, even before they were named, when they were nothing but sparks of reason in a Christmastime bubble universe.

_Back then...way back there...Cartman died...he knew he died...why hadn't he asked Kenny sooner?_

He remembered all the crazy nights the two of them had spent trying to save South Park from exploding in chaos, and how they always succeeded. How they did everything as one, each finishing each other's thoughts, each propping up each other's ideas. How they would stand together too late after their bedtime, strong in their duo, the cynic and the optimist, unflappable and unruffled, side by side, raising philosophical eyebrows at the stupidity of adults. How Kyle and he would do everything as one, they breathed together, walked together, like twins. Kyle was one of the most important things in the universe according to South Park.

A brilliant blaze of light suddenly made him clap his mittens over his eyes in pain. It was a car. Out of force of habit, he scrambled out of the way., but too weak to keep his balance, he simply toppled over and lay still as the car's tires screeched, showering him with snow and ice.

"Hey watch it you little punk!" It was Mr. Garrison, looking distinctly smug about something. He zoomed up the street at top speed, and vanished as suddenly as he had come, leaving Stan lying in the road. He struggled to pull himself up, but fell back again, trembling too hard to support himself, and merely turned himself over onto his back, propped himself up on one elbow, and tried to remember the reason he even cared about getting up. He stared at his shoes, the cobwebs were back.

That same soft, beautiful, white snow that had never abandoned South Park, that always brought a sense of coziness to the most macabre of incidents, only seemed to heighten the dull, pounding agony of lopsidedness. Kyle was dead. No more voice of cool logic or heartfelt passion would convince the good in all people to surge forth. No more sharp-tongued wisecracks and bickering would pin the foursome together. No more innocently earnest pleas for a stop to the self-destructive hatred and haplessness of human nature. No more naive reasoning through deadlocked, bitter controversy. No more colorful insults hurled in Cartman's direction. No more smart remarks. No more "You bastards!" No more Kyle.

What was he without Kyle? What was South Park without him? Everything was dying, everything was going up in flames and collapsing in on itself without Kyle, and he, Stan, was the first to fall, the first to be thrown down.

He felt a sudden surge of revulsion at the thought of what he probably looked like, groveling in the snow like a beggar, filthy and ragged, frostbitten, too tired to get up, probably delirious with fever, helpless and broken without his best friend, Cartman would be delighted, if he could see him now.

_Cartman...Cartman did it... _

His head pounded in agony. Judging from how he felt he was most likely dying from a combination of shock and exhaustion. He longed to fall asleep and cozily freeze to death in the street, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that he had forgotten something, something important. That he had overlooked some major error in this whole nightmare, something that should be obvious, but... 

His eyes turned upwards to the misty glimmer of stars peeking through the clouds. He could suddenly think of nothing but Cartman's wide grinning face, the image burning itself into the inside of his eyelids.

His brain was straining to remember...something about Cartman, something didn't add up, something didn't come together, if only he could think straight for a minute...

Stan's eyes went wide, abstracted, as he suddenly froze; something had struck a match in his head, a wavering, unearthly realization rising in his chest. Too numb to think, only one desperate idea lodged in his mind, screaming in his head like police sirens, but from very far away: _Cartman. Cartman did it. Tell Cartman. Tell Cartman._

With the last of his strength, Stan pulled himself halfway up and began half crawling, half walking, across the street. He struggled to his feet and stumbled slowly, as though sleepwalking, down the smaller, quiet road, muffled with fresh snow, dark and shadowed in the night, past the sleeping houses, until he finally stood in front of Cartman's house. The lights in Cartman's window and the living room were on; they almost always seemed to be on.

For a moment he just stared at the door. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and rung the bell.

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So yeah, a bit of a let down after the long wait, but...review anyway? 


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